


Cast me far away

by AnotherLoser



Series: growing up, it made me numb [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Addiction, Codependency, Depression, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Peter is almost 21, Peter might be a little ooc, Substance Abuse, thats kinda the point though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: ”It’s not-“ Peter shakes his head, glancing down once again.  “I need a break sometimes.  That’s all last night was.  I’m still patrolling when I can, I have a full class schedule and a full time job.””You call that a break?” She asks, eyebrows raising.  “You were sobbing on the bathroom floor.”Peter huffs a little laugh.  “Fair, but I didn’t have to think about anything else.”





	Cast me far away

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags first kiddos I don't want issues.  
> In case your curious I picture Bill Skarsgard for Harry btw. I'm not really sure why but it's probably Hemlock Grove's fault.  
> Lastly, this is not beta'd, and there’s actually a lot more to this au I didn’t even get to in this fic, for backstory and current situation, so I might make a lil series with other plot bunnies in this setting. Title is from 'go fuck yourself' by two feet.

It’s the third time his phone has blasted beside his head that Peter finally paws for the device to pick it up, arm feeling heavy and eyes barely able to peek open.

Sun creeps in through the window of his bedroom, leaking through blinds that never quite shut all the way. The a/c in the apartment is never enough either, but it generally gets the job done well enough. Still, he seems to have slept without sheets on the night before to accommodate.

The screen is too bright. The ringing stops by the time Peter can will himself to look at the caller ID.

[...]

He’s had years to get used to his enhanced senses. The sight, the sound, even the touch. It all reached new levels with the spider bite, so much so that Peter had genuinely wondered if he was dying when it all kicked in the next day. Everything was so sensitive, too much. He certainly wanted to die. Then he asjusted fairly quick. Learned to wear headphones with or without music when going out, sunglasses sometimes as well. Over time he’s needed them less and less, but sensory overload was always a risk.

It has been almost six years though. He had better be used to it by now.

Nights like this were different though. The music is so loud he can feel it in his feet. His skin is sticky and hot, most likely because of the mass of bodies in the home filling it with their heat. The warm flannel over his T-shirt probably didn’t help.

The beer in his hand is cool though. Cool but over half empty. He doesn’t remember when he drank it down that low. Peter flops down on the sofa. It creaks under his weight. His head tips back, eyes absently scanning over the shapes in around him. People dancing and shuffling, some trying to talk over the music while others don’t care at all. It all blurs together in front of him.

[...]

MJ picks up on the second ring, five minutes after her last missed call to Peter.

“Oh good, you’re alive.” There’s a sigh with her words, like she might actually be relieved but the sarcasm in her voice has Peter doubting it. He wasn’t awake enough to analyze it further than that.

“Hey... Sorry, I just got up.”

”Yeah I figured. Do you even remember anything?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “From last night?” He doesn’t even know why she’s asking, but the answer was yes. For the most part- he’s pretty sure.

“No, from last year- yeah last night! God, Peter...”. He finally rises to his feet, taking note of the bitter, dry taste in his mouth as he does. Water would be smart. He wanted coffee more, but it would depend what he even had in his poor excuse for a kitchen.

”Why? We’re you there?”

She laughs. It doesn’t sound happy. “We need to talk for real, Peter.”

“Great.” The cabinets were empty besides a few boxes of ramen, whatever dishes were clean, and a can of green beans. No coffee grounds. “I need coffee... wanna meet me?”

He doesn’t really want to see her, let alone talk about whatever she had her so irritated. They haven’t really seen each other in two years, a scolding was not how Peter wanted to break that streak.

”Fine... Fine. Yeah, sure. Where?”

[...]

"Parker?" He knows that voice. He heard it almost every day throughout high school, at least once. He hasn't really heard it since graduation. Maybe a few times, if he wanted to think on it- if he has the ability.

It takes a few seconds for his gaze to lock onto her face. Peter feels almost like he was teleported back to high school, like he should be making excuses for his silence and his current state both. He feels guilty, but he smiles. She was as pretty as ever. He's missed her.

"Have you now?"

He was thinking out loud. Peter blinks a few times. "Yeah... Yeah, MJ.” She cracks a smile for his enthusiasm, but her brow knits together too.

“You okay there, tiger?”

He felt numb. Blissfully numb. Tingly at worst. He was floating. Everything was fuzzy. “Perfect.”

Another body plops down next to his on the couch. He knows who it is without looking, because he’s the only person Peter knows that smells like he does in the middle of party. He’s just as far gone as Peter, he always was when they did this, but he was a more functioning kind of user. Sometimes he was still high when he got up in the morning and managed through a day of classes without a single person noticing. Peter would be sluggish and questioned by whoever he sat next to.

“Hey, Pete.” Harry greets him, arms resting on the back of the couch, one hand coming down to play with Peter’s hair. “How’re you feeling?” He asks with a knowing grin, ever pleased to share his highs.

“Perfect.” He repeats.

“Gonna introduce me to your friend?”

Another beat passes. Harry doesn’t seem to notice anymore than Peter himself does. Peter takes it as encouragement; after all, how bad could he be if his functional friend wasn’t pointing anything out?

MJ’s face isn’t happy. Her arms are now folded. Peter squints.

”Osborn, right?” She asks. Harry takes a moment too and holds out a hand.

“You got a name, red?”  
Peter can’t figure out who to look at. Harry was slurring. Was Peter doing the same? His arm itches.

”You haven’t said 'nuff to tell, babe.” Talking out loud again. MJ scoffs and sits on the arm of the sofa, peering down at the boys to her right.

"He's said enough." She sneers. That was too familiar too- MJ was probably the most sarcastic person Peter has ever known, which truly said a lot with the company he kept now. He sniggers to himself, but it sounds distant in his ears.

It's quiet for a minute otherwise. Outside of the music, anyway, as MJ looks him over one more time. "What did you give him, Osborn?"  
Harry's hand in his hair stills for a moment before continuing it's petting, softer than before. "Party favors."

Harry isn't happy. Peter knows him well enough now that he could tell if he was on his ass. He should fix it. Or try, at least, but he isn't quite sure what to do.

He finishes his beer in one go instead of speaking.

[...]

Passing by the mirror in the bathroom, Peter frowns at the glimpse of himself he catches. His skin was as pale as ever these days, highlighting the dark circles underneath. His hair was greasy and messed ridiculously. After he's relieved himself Peter brings a hand up to run his fingers through his brown locks, finding a knot near the back of his skull that absolutely does not want to come undone.

It wasn't anything new these days. Peter was a mess. Some days were better than others, but he doesn't think he's looked _put together_ all year at least. Realistically he knows that his downfall began much longer ago, but for a while he even impressed himself by how he managed to pretend otherwise in public.

The biggest problem was just that he knows MJ will comment on it. She's always been a blunt sort of person. The most honest he knows, even with the walls that protected her own issues. She certainly wasn't going to take it easy on him if he managed to upset her while he was high with Harry- and it did have to be specified that way. By himself it was just drugs. He'd take a few pills and hoard the strongest booze he could find to make it last as long as possible, spend the night wandering by himself around whichever home he was in be it his or a stranger's. Maybe he'd just lay around, talk nonsense. Sort through jumbled thoughts that suddenly feel so much more manageable when he's high.

Screw someone who doesn't matter and doesn't care about him.

Carve lines in his arm with his own fingernails.

A knife.

Wonder how he lived with himself.

With Harry it was fun. More fun, anyway.

They met at a party Peter didn’t really want to go to in he first place. He was eighteen, fresh out of high school, still pretending that everything was fine even while ignoring the few people he might still have been able to call his friends. He was a workaholic in every aspect of his life, juggling his new college schedule with work and Spider-Man. That part hadn’t really changed in truth; Peter still has bills to pay and a city he can’t seem to stop trying to protect, and even with half the motivation he used to have he still is prepared for a future in his desired scientific field. Back then though it was different.

Back then Peter drank throughout the very rare parties he went to, clinging to every minute of the peaceful buzz he could, trying to pretend the rest of his life didn’t exist.

He didn’t go out like that much, knowing how May and Ben would feel about it. Knowing that it was a horrid coping mechanism.

And then that night he met Harry and he found himself a partner in his self destruction.

With Harry the highs are always higher, and not just because he could afford better quality products than Peter could. The first night, he helped Peter walk home after he lost his stomach. Harry was too gone to drive either so he did the responsible thing. He even made sure Peter had water before going to bed, and let himself out afterwards.

The next time they saw each other Peter had a decent buzz for a little while before it began to fade all too quickly, his enchanted metabolism burning through the alcohol much too fast. He was mostly sober when he found Harry moping by himself, so out of it he wouldn’t remember how Peter ended up simply holding him for hours - trying to make him laugh for most of it - come morning.

They got coffee eventually. Then pretty quickly became partners in crime, always seeking escape with the other’s company whether it was sober or not. They still rarely shared their reasoning. Peter barley mentioned his four dead family members. Harry only mentioned his father when it was in a passing complaint, even after Peter finally met the man. It had been a year by then and he was still in better shape. Not as good as he had tried to be at eighteen, but holding on well enough.  Attitude more positive and hair much more frequently washed. Norman liked Peter. So much so that in front of both boys he’d asked Harry why he didn’t have more friends like Peter- if he could have ended up like him if he had better influences in high school instead of his old crummy friends or if he actually tried for once.

Peter does not like Norman Osborn. He doesn’t think he was any sort of example. He never was, not really, and certainly not now. Harry and he got plastered at Peter’s after dinner and Harry spent the weekend crashing there even though Peter didn’t have the time to hang out with him for most of it.

They took care of each other, Peter and Harry. It might not be healthy but they were at each other’s beck and call whenever possible. Good times or bad.

He doubts that MJ would be so understanding.

[...]

The bathroom smells like bleach. Peter's nose scrunches up when it hits him. Idly he thinks that it would be a shame if the owner scrubbed it down just for strangers to come in and vomit everywhere. He didn’t think he would be contributing to that inevitability, at least.

Instead Peter simply relieves his bladder and goes to wash his hands. The fog his brain was shrouded in only slowed him down somewhat. Watching the water running over his hands however, he can’t help but stare as it glistens under the light. It’s cold, almost icy on his skin. It feels good.

There’s a tapping on the door. Peter doesn’t look away from the tap as he calls out, “Just a sec.”

The tapping sounds again. It echoes in his head with the sound of running water. If he closes his eyes he can hear voices outside the door. The endless chatter of party goers and the humming of the music overtop of it all.

There’s too many sounds all in one place. He likes it better when they blur together. Now that he’s noticed it though he can’t stop. Every tick and tap and shuffle on he floor. The beat of the song and the vibration of it in his feet.

He shoves his wet hands into his hair and tugs.

[...]

MJ looks much more put together than Peter does. It isn’t a surprise really, except that in high school her ‘look’ was always some kind of _grunge_ style made up of dark, muddy colors. It worked for her, truthfully, but she did always have a way of looking like she just rolled out of bed like that. Now her messy brown curls were more styled, dyed a dark red that compliments her eyes surprisingly well. Her clothes looked comfortable still, but different; a black and white crop top under a light jacket, torn up but spotless dark jeans.

Peter almost wants to laugh upon seeing her, realizing that they’ve all but traded places now. He came dressed in an old, ragged sweater and jeans that used to fit him snugger than they did now, bleach stains completely accidental, and his personal hygiene just as bad as when he saw himself earlier.

She frowns at the sight of him, arms folded on the table she sat by. As he approaches however a small smile pulls at her lips, more smug than genuinely pleased. Peter rolls his eyes as he sits across from her.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks. You look nice."

“I showered this morning. When was the last time you even brushed your hair? Jesus.” Peter slides down in his seat, slouching back.

”I’m serious here, Parker- when did you even eat last? Or wash your clothes—“

“Is this really what you wanted to talk about?” He asks with a sigh, pushing his chair out for room to stand. “I’m getting my coffee.”

The boy behind the counter, surely no older than Peter himself, looks at him curiously when he approaches. He doesn’t seem judgemental however as he takes his order, though as he passes the job of making Peter’s red eye to a coworker he does ask, “rough night?” With a slight upturn to his lips. It probably seems more fun in theory.

”You have no idea.” Peter replies calmly with a nod. It wasn’t the worst he’s had, sober or not. Not by a long shot. Still it had taken more than just a few ups and downs by the time he crashed. There was no need to get that deep into it with a stranger, of course, but MJ might ask. She almost definitely would. Peter really wishes she wouldn’t, but then, if he truly wanted to avoid her again why did he agree to see her?

[...]

He finds out he didn’t lock the door when a girl bursts into the bathroom, only to find Peter on the floor. All of the sounds he’d been trying to block out suddenly fill the space he hides in and Peter recoils, hands slapping over his ears for protection.

The girl crouches down in front of him just as Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Her footsteps were too loud. She was saying something. He doesn't care, he doesn't want to hear it. With his eyes closed he feels dizzier, like he was on a slow winding roller coaster taking him on a loop. Peter's jaw slowly falls open, silent still save for his heavy breath.

Someone was yelling.

A man was yelling- the girl keeps touching Peter's shoulder but the voice is too deep to be her.

Peter's throat feels rough, almost like it was vibrating.

[...]

"So is last night normal?" MJ asks a single peaceful moment after Peter sits back down. "Getting so fucked you can't walk without your buddy? And since when are you hanging out with Harry Osborn?"

Peter only rolls his eyes again and scoffs into his coffee before taking another sip. "How do you know him?"

"Stop dodging the question." She's stern, leaning forward on her arms resting on the table and tilting her head to the side with a look like she was ready to fight him.

"Stop acting like it matters." He fires back, meeting her gaze with a challenging one of his own. It's cause for hesitation, even in MJ. Gears are turning in her head. It takes a moment for Peter to even catch it, but she was deflating. She leans back in her chair and nods to herself.

"You cut me out, Peter. That's on you, not me." He can admit that it was fair, at least to himself. "And you agreed to be here- it was basically your idea so don't be an asshole and treat me like the bad guy. I just want to know what's going on."

It’s quiet for a moment, MJ staring him down passively while Peter rolls his jaw. He hates how she does that. How he feels guilty. How he didn’t even need her to bring it up for him to feel that way. He answers, “I met Harry at a party a little while ago. Couple years now- we’ve gotten pretty close.”

"A couple? So when you left for college, basically?"

"Pretty much."

"Fantastic."

"Gonna tell me how you know him now?"

"I don't."

"You seem to hate him."

"Oscorp is a corrupt business no matter how many achievements they make."  That was the Michelle Peter remembers.  It was good to see that her standards were still high and strong.  It was one of her best qualities, even if she overdid it sometimes.  All the same, Peter knows Harry more than MJ these days, and if he scoffs at her statement it felt perfectly justified.

"Harry probably hates his father and that company more than you ever could.  Don't group him with them."

MJ quirks a brow at him.  "Doesn't change the fact he was feeding you whatever the hell had you on your ass last night, and I'm guessing that isn't new either."

"It's not.  I don't see how that makes him the bad guy either though- I asked him for drugs, he gave them to me."

"That's called enabling.  If he really cared about you, he would know better and try to keep you away from it."

Peter shakes his head, raising a hand to rake through his hair before dropping it a little too loudly onto the tabletop.  "You've been out of the loop for a while, MJ.  You don't know what's going on."

"Yeah no shit!  That's why we're here, Einstein-"

"Don't call me that."

[...]

"Peter- Peter hey hey, Peter--"

His chest hurt almost as bad as his throat did as he calls out again for his friend, more like a groan than a cry as the girl tries to hold his shoulders still.  It was getting worse.  Even as he finally hears himself, he only felt worse.

Nimble fingers cup his cheek, forcing his head up until the girl's face comes into view- MJ's face.  His old friend.  A girl he almost dated, almost loved back when life were simpler.  She wasn't meant to see him like this.  No one was, besides Harry.

She's still trying to shush him.  He's yelling again for his friend, aware of both things happening but unable to respond to either.  His body operates almost without his input it felt like.

And then he was there; expensive shirt rumpled, one hand bracing his weight against the doorframe and the other pushing his hair back smoothly.  Even out of his mind he looked elegant in his own way, as opposed to Peter crying on the bathroom floor.

"It's too loud," He whimpers, reaching out for the other young man as if MJ wasn't there at all.  On cue Harry stumbles forward, dropping to his knees next to her as her hand slips away.

"I got you, sweetheart.. I got you."

It's almost too easy how he collapses into Harry's arms.  Too perfect how he fits against him once he's been maneuvered some.  Peter is between his legs, his head on harry's shoulder and the other boy's hands petting his back as he murmurs, "Forget about them... Forget about them, just listen to me.  Breath for me?" He does, deep and slow like he's supposed to.  "Just focus on feeling, baby."

[...]

”...Look,” she starts again, glancing down at her tea while searching for her words. It wasn’t often Peter had ever seen her struggling for something to say, but he supposed that he wasn’t making it easy. “I know when May died things were rough.. I can’t see how they could’ve been any less. So when you started pulling away I know- I know I could have done something else. Reached out sooner. I thought you needed space for a while is all. But then I did try to talk to you again and it was like you weren’t even there. And then you just stopped responding altogether.”

Peter can’t look at her anymore either, even- no, especially when he feels her gaze back on him.

”I wanted to be there. Ned too, but fuck, Peter. We aren’t mind readers. I still don’t understand what you were doing and sure as hell don’t understand _this_. Please, just talk to me.”

”It wasn’t a dumb accident.”

Silence.

”When May died. I could have stopped it. Just like with Ben, funny enough...”

”Peter-“

”Everyone I loved is dead, MJ. They’re all dead. You don't see why I might have backed off?”

”That’s bullshit and you know it.” She snaps. It’s hard not to look at her then. Her and that fire in her eyes when she was passionate about something. Even if that something was how stupid she thought Peter was.

He doesn’t entirely expect the remorse that’s there as well. Maybe because of her tone, maybe because of his own assumptions. ”Is it? Admit it, MJ, you’ve known what I am for a while. Since before graduation. Do you think anyone is safe with me? That I can have a normal relationship?”

”You could have at least tried.” It stings. Not because of her tone - it wasn’t nearly as harsh as it could be - but because of the implications.

”I did. I did, as friends, and it wasn’t easy for anybody even if it was safe, which it wasn’t.”

”At least you’re still as stubborn as ever...” for the first time since sitting down, MJ finally pauses to sip her tea. “So you don’t think you can have relationships anymore. How does that bring us here?”

”It’s not-“ Peter shakes his head, glancing down once again. “I need a break sometimes. That’s all last night was. I’m still patrolling when I can, I have a full class schedule and a full time job.”

”You call that a break?” She asks, eyebrows raising. “You were sobbing on the bathroom floor.”

Peter huffs a little laugh. “Fair, but I didn’t have to think about anything else.”

When he meets her eyes again she’s nearly gaping at him; eyes wide, lips parted, and expression shifting into false amusement, fittingly bitter when she speaks. “You’re an addict, Parker. You’re a fucking addict.”

All he has to do to prompt her to continue is open his mouth, not a sound making it out before she pounces.

”What would May say, huh? Your best friend is your dealer, you look like walking death, and you'd rather have a bad trip than be sober. Does that sound like the guy she wanted you to be? Or anything close to it?"

He doesn't need to think on her words. He's already had this conversation with himself with a much longer list of faults. He knows how it goes and doesn't need to hear it again. Something in MJ's face changes in the moments that follow. Peter doesn't care to think on that either. He gulps down a sip of his coffee before pushing the seat back again and getting up.

[...]

Harry and he tried living together for about six months the year before, after the weekend Harry spent recovering from dinner with Norman. Peter felt awful taking advantage of his friend's money, and as much as he loved Harry's company there was something different between them when living like that. It wasn't necessarily bad, nor good. Peter admits he had simply been spooked by it all the same.

He regrets it today as much as he did the first day back in his shoebox of a home, but that was an issue for another day, if ever.

For now he uses the spare key to get in, locking the door again behind himself and starting through the loft. "Harry!" He calls out, stepping over a discarded jacket and matching pair of shoes from the night before. The place was always cluttered, but rarely dirty at least. For as much as Norman seemed to hate his own son, he also values appearances far too highly to let Harry live somewhere his job could actually pay for- that being someplace probably just as bad as Peter's. So instead it's a small but classy loft fit for himself and perhaps a guest, complete with the building's maid service that come in occasionally to clean up after him.

Peter raps his knuckles on the bedroom door, pauses a moment to listen for signs of life, and turns the knob to enter.

Harry is still in bed, it seemed. Long limbs folded up under the blankets as he sleep, halfway tucked into a fetal position. Peter closes the door again quietly, toeing off his shoes. If he focuses, he can hear his friend's soft breaths across the room. It's reassuring for a list of reasons Peter wished didn't exist. But then, if they didn't, would he have a reason to be here?

Harry shifts only when feeling the bed dip with Peter's weight, turning just enough to peek his eyes open at him.

"Hey." Peter greets in a murmur.

"Hey... Time 's it?" Despite asking, Harry lays back down as he was when Peter nudges his shoulder in silent instruction.

"Ten maybe." He only gets a nod in return, and for a long minute that was all. Peter gets comfortable, curling up behind the other in a similar position.

Harry sighs then, reaching behind himself lazily to paw at Peter's own arm. Once they've slotted themselves together, spooning like a couple of kids in puppy-love, Harry opens his mouth again. "What's up?" He mumbles sleepily still.

Peter closes his eyes. "Old friend wanted to talk. Got coffee with her. Didn't go well."

The blonde hums. "MJ, right? From th' party."

"...Yeah. She thinks you're encouraging my addiction."

"Probably right." Peter whacks his chest lightly, earning a whine in response. "It's true. Look at us."

"You're not bad for me... Now go back to sleep, I'm exhausted."

"I'm bad for everybody, Pete... But okay."


End file.
